Work Text:
“I got smoke coming from in the cockpit, I think. I smell something funny,”
No.
It was laughable, really, always him. He couldn’t say that out loud of course; the media would have a right show with that one. Blood rushed to his ears, muffling the distant hum of the engine. His heart shot to his throat, constricting his every breath, time had seemed to slow itself down.
“Yeah I think… I dunno if I’m on fire or not,”
No, no please
He could smell it clearer now, burning. He could hear the spluttering. He could feel his control slipping, not just on the car.
“It doesn’t smell good,” He turns the corner, “smoke in the cockpit!”
Oh god, no please
Lando couldn’t believe it, not now. Not when there were so few laps to go of their first race back off summer break, second place and chasing his teammate for top step.
“Okay, mate. We’re checking.” Will’s voice just barely makes it past his rapidly spiralling thoughts.
A few turns more, and he felt it before he saw it. The engine giving way, the smell of burning growing stronger, the car rapidly dropping in speed.
“Oil leak! I’m out,”
Please, what did I do?
Not when he had worked so hard and had kept great pace all weekend, throughout practice and just barely missing pole by an unlucky by a gust of wind, 0.012 hundredths of a second, losing out on qualifying to his teammate. Not when the championship could’ve swung by to two points or if not sixteen.
“Failure.”
Failure, failure, failure.
Not when he had tried so hard to keep calm under pressure as tensions increased, not when this season was probably going to be his only chance at winning the championship.
Lando feels his eyes sting, not from the smoke, nor the sweat. It was the shame, the disappointment, the weight in his chest. His eyes lost focus, hands shaking as his car came to a pitiful stop to the side of the track.
He misses his engineer’s “okay,” as he watches Verstappen pass by.
“Fuuuck.”
“Can you bring it back mate?”
“I’m out, I’m out,” Then Hadjar. “No, no. It’s gone, it’s gone.”
If it wasn’t for the visual confirmation of the other drivers passing him, he’d have thought he was still going with how fast his head was spinning.
“Okay.”
No, it’s not fucking okay, Will.
“Fuck!”
Second DNF of the season.
“Sorry, mate.”
Russell flies by.
He can see the smoke barrelling out and carried away by the breeze. He takes a moment, watches the rest of the grid go by; flips his visor.
Will’s voice was distant over the radio, rushing to tell him he was fast. Lando couldn’t help but bite back, “it doesn’t matter, mate. I know.”
Because yeah, no fucking shit he was fast, he knew that, but it didn’t fucking matter now because he was sitting in the cockpit, and his car wasn’t moving.
Lando couldn’t help it. His mentality was a lot stronger this season, taking it on the chin, moving on. Of course he couldn’t help an engine failure, chassis problem- whatever the hell went wrong. He couldn’t blame himself.
“Unlucky boys, unlucky.”
But it wasn’t fair.
The championship battle was now going to be a thirty four point difference, and with only nine races to go, he would have to be perfect for at least five of those races.
As if there wasn’t enough pressure already.
Lando couldn’t recall when he disconnected from the radio, the fog clouding his mind. It was more prevalent than ever once he was finally able to clamber out of the cockpit, making his way across the barriers and onto the grass.
He could barely muster a nod of the head to the abundance of people rushing over with fire extinguishers and words of comfort. All of which fell on deaf ears.
He hadn’t dared to take off his helmet, not yet. When he found a spot overlooking the track, he kept his head down and arms across his knees, his now gloveless hands picking at the skin of his fingers. He was hoping to hide his shaky breaths as he tried to stifle the sobs threatening to claw from his throat.
He didn’t move until he had to, he couldn’t. He saw on the screen across the track as Oscar took the checkered flag, Max in second and Isack taking his first podium.
He wanted to be happy for the rookie, but he couldn’t help the disgusting bubble of jealousy threatening to pop, it should’ve been him up there.
He took a moment, ignoring his thoughts, doing his best not to become overwhelmed.
He bit his lip, then took off his helmet. The cool air swept against his damp face, but he didn’t want to look like a massive sulk. He stood, walked around, waved to the fans from across the track, who were shouting his name to Verstappen’s fan chant. He smiled and engaged, chatting to those around him.
No one noticed if he struggled a bit more to maintain eye contact, an unease creeping in his skin- if they did, no one commented.
He tried to make it look like the race didn’t bother him, like it wasn’t killing him inside.
He did his best.
But it wasn’t good enough.
He couldn’t recall much after that, but as he just got back, walking underneath the podium, he heard Oscar get called to the top step, his heart sinking with every moment as his teammate’s praises were sung. Lando could’ve been sick as he spots his car being lifted by the crane.
Perfect Oscar Piastri. Ice cold on the track. Barely makes mistakes. Solid drive, in control. His car never has problems, and he’s much more loved than Lando is. Stronger, just better.
Oscar, who loves Lando more than anyone else. Who kisses his nose on their weeks off when they wake up to each other. Who lets him sit on his lap whilst he awkwardly tries to go round Spa on the sim. Who cries when he watches one-hundred-and-one Dalmations.
His teammate, his rival, but also his boyfriend.
Who, had just told him he loved him during the summer break, after it had been a little over a year and a half since they started sleeping with each other, and six months since they got over themselves, talked about it and made it official.
On race weekends they were two different people. It was friendly handshakes, bitter smiles, small jealousies. Their PR relationships are more prevalent in the media than ever on screen to cover Mr Oscar-heart-eyes-Piastri, especially during the early parts of last season. With no other option, they had to alert the close members of McLaren to keep their new status under wraps.
On weekdays, it was morning breath and breakfast in bed. It was passionate sex, movie nights and dinner dates. It was gaming sessions, competitive as ever, loud giggles, warmth and peace. They had fought a long ways to get to where they are now, separating their dynamic shift from the track; it's not personal, it's racing.
The world of Formula One wasn’t ready yet, and the person he wanted more than anything to kiss on that top step, he couldn’t.
This time he wasn’t even on the podium to at least indulge in the idea.
It stung.
When Lando had dragged himself back to the media pen, his face plastered with a smile, ready to give his rehearsed responses, because he couldn’t let them see how much it affected him, his heart sank as he watched Oscar enter, all laughs and smelling like champagne, fresh from his celebrations.
He couldn’t help it, telling the interviewer, “I just want to go have a burger and go home,” and, really, he wanted everyone to leave him the fuck alone trying to poke holes and see if he would make any comments that the vultures of journalists could dive into.
Instead, he sticks to his mental script, finishing with, “nothing I could really do,”
Which, there wasn’t really. He knew that. His brain still didn’t like to be kind to him either way.
So, after he was done with his long string of interviews, when the fuzz and aching at the back of his head intensified, his need for quiet rapidly growing, he had passed Oscar in the media pen.
They caught eyes, and Lando gave a tight smile as they shook hands, “well done, mate.”
“Yeah, thanks. Sorry about your race though. Heard your were gonna have burgers though, so I’ll join you later, yeah?”
Lando grinned, “yeah, mate. For sure.” He rushes, and Oscar’s eyes flashed in response. He knew he had blown it, might as well have gone onto his back and expose his belly. He tried not to show his discomfort at his slip up, but his hand was given a quick squeeze before they separated. Oscar knew he was devastated.
It had been a short while later, after he took the team photo, because yeah, rub salt in the wound whilst they’re at it, that he had changed to his teamwear for debrief. As the meeting progressed, Lando’s shame and sadness was very quickly replaced with frustration.
A lot of the team avoided eye contact with him as he subtly rocked in his chair, leg bouncing at the same time. He struggled to contain his emotions as Andrea and Zak tried to grab his attention.
“Could you stop moving please, you’re jogging the table.” One of the strategists said to him, a sharpness in their tone, forcing the room to settle to a silence.
Lando flushed a deep red, and forced himself to still. An uncomfortable itch settled under his skin as he mumbled a quick, “sorry.” The unease settled by pushing his palms up and down the material of his baggy jeans instead.
A stiff atmosphere overtook the room.
Lando was drowning.
When the chatter around him began to pick up again, Zak and Andrea did what he could only assume was their best to support him. They apologised, telling him it was a mishap that he wasn’t to be blamed for. Something nearly tipped him over hearing that, his gaze snapping to meet that of the two team principle’s.
Mishap.
Like it hadn’t most likely cost him his life’s dream. His only opportunity, snatched away from him; and they have the cheek to call it a ‘mishap’.
Lando couldn’t help but scoff, and he saw in his peripheral’s at a few who had turned their heads, some with annoyed looks on their faces at his second ‘interruption’.
Zak was the one to speak up, “is there something you wanted to add, Lando?”
He shook his head in disbelief, “no, Zak, I’m fine. Thanks.” He said, exasperated.
Andrea was next to chime in, “Lando, it won’t do any of us any good if you’re going to act like a child. If you have something to say, then please do.”
Gritting his teeth, he sighed and pushed his chair away from him. He cringed as it scraped against the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a difficult weekend, I’ll be better at Monza.”
Reluctantly, they let it go, “okay, well that’s good to hear, we can’t afford any more mistak- mishaps, sorry, as- Lando where are you going?”
He wasted no time leaving the room, footsteps painfully loud in the quiet of the room. If he could manifest his anger he’d reckon he’d have flames shooting out the side of his head. Thinking better of snapping, he removed himself from the room, shooting a quick, “bathroom, be back in a minute.”
They knew he wouldn’t be. He avoided Oscar’s worried gaze from across the room.
As Lando made his way back to his hotel, his head grew ever more fuzzy, like a thick haze. Everything felt heavy, his clothes were becoming uncomfortable and the lights were practically piercing his retinas. He couldn’t wait to get to the shower, quite literally to wash the day away.
He ignored the harsh looks from the receptionist as her greeting to Lando went unanswered. He rushed to the lift as fast as he could. He flinched at the sounds of the buttons, automated voice and door closing; just a bit longer.
As he ascended through the floors, he started wiggling his middle finger, having it tap rhythmically against the palm of his hand. With the other, he rubbed the denim of his trousers between his thumb and index finger.
He focused on breathing through his nose, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed, warm, maybe with some music and homemade meals. However, due to a scheduling error, (because surely nothing else could go wrong), he had to wait until tomorrow so he could fly back with Oscar.
Hotel food and stiff covers would have to do.
When he had finally reached his door, his shoulders sagged, tension easing away, at last.
The green light as he turned the handle, and the familiar scent of the room wafting into the hallway did nothing to ease the coil in his stomach. So, he made quick work of freshening up under the hot water, ordering room service and getting into the softest clothes he could find. Having already teetering on the edge of overstimulation, he dimmed the lights, and laid on top of his bed with the telly on low.
He should’ve known better than to not take a moment to actually recover his senses.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was enjoying the flow of the crisp Dutch air from the cracked window he had opened after his shower.
However, that left him time to think. He couldn’t help it, going over the race in his head, thinking what could he have done differently. Maybe if the wind had changed direction, or if only he had been more careful, if only-
He checked his socials on his burner.
He knew he shouldn’t have.
→ 🎀 Mo @mo__xndaaaaa7
Norris bottles once again 🙄
↳ aya @leclercedd333!
@mo_xndaaaaa7 girl u can’t be srs. Did u even watch?
↳ liV @verlivsimo_
@mo_xndaaaaa7 It was an engine failure. Not his fault.
→ suriya @ssuriya251975
Lando fans when he wins: McLaren is equal!
Lando fans when he doesn’t: McLaren are sabotaging Lando!
→ kitty ✨ @kcatalina_4398_
@Mclaren was Lando’s DNF a top moment too? 🙄
↳ ac @aaronchawla1121019
@kcatalina_4398_ Defo was, still celebrating
↳ kitty ✨ @kcatalina_4398_
@aaronchawla1121019 grown man that’s hating on a driver for nothing 😭
↳ ALEX @rizzitrekkar.2o_a0
@kcatalina_4398_ DEFINITELY!!! I was jumping for joy at that moment
↳ kitty ✨ @kcatalina_4398_
@rizzitrekkar.2o_a0 very mature of you what can I say
↳ Gia 🦋@shyalladin_06_
@aaronchawla1121019 @rizzitrekkar.2o_a0 actual gooner behaviour 😭
↳ kitty ✨ @kcatalina_4398_
@shyalladin_06_ 🩷🫶
→ jj @prfectlysplndid_1999_
I’m a Lando hater, but even he didn’t deserve that
↳ nur @81sprmanager334459
@prfectlysplndid_1999_ why tho? Lando hate is so forced 💀
→ vash @8144sfreakshow_00
No one wants to see a WDC decided by an engine failure.
↳ Lila 🙈@verstrii3477__
@8144sfreakshow_00 bit sus it’s always Lando tho🤔
↳ vash @8144sfreakshow_00
@verstrii3277__ Dont even go there m8.
Lando appreciated the nicer comments, those who supported him no matter what. There were thousands of those, but hundreds of hate comments. It was the ones that said he deserved it, that it was his fault, no matter how ridiculous the comment, they stuck with him. He had some sick satisfaction in liking as many of them as possible, hoping his algorithm would show him what he felt he deserved.
→ poppy 🏎️@formula__fuck4LIFE
not world championship material.
→ ail 🇮🇪 @ailnanana_banana8
He would've bottled even if his car didn’t break down
→ Flo @MCLYAPPER407_
Will be celebrating Lando’s DNF today
→ vee 🫧@cultpiastri81__09
too bad he didn’t crash
→ Chantel @ChantelTMI49
Not good enough to stay with that team.
→ ana @analucia2_0_0_1
We love both boys, but Lando has already proven he is too emotionally damaged. Let Oscar shine.
Every passing thought, his chest grew tighter. His clothes stopped fitting right and suddenly the room was smaller, hotter, harder to breathe normally. He switched his phone off, hands shaking too much to read the screen.
There’s an irritating buzzing from the light above that was becoming incessant, volume increasing. He shrugged off the covers, moving to the edge of the bed.
Something was wrong.
He could smell smoke again, burning, maybe his insides had set on fire, maybe he’d start to choke, maybe-
He clamps his hands over his ears, to silence his thoughts or the buzzing, he wasn’t sure, but it was too loud, the materials felt wrong and his clothes were too tight.
He needed to get away.
Lando pushed off the bed and sat against the far wall, tucked into the corner. He tried to count his breaths, stars, fucking sheep, anything.
Nothing was working.
Lando’s breathing only became shorter, more erratic, his face wet. Whether it was sweat or tears, he hadn’t known. He squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t long before he started picking at his hair, the small stings providing some form of relief, but it wasn’t enough, so he settles to yanking at it instead.
Soon enough, that wasn’t helping, so he scratched at his arms, harder and harder. He left dark, angry lines, anything to try and ground him.
He didn’t want to feel anymore. He opened his eyes but his vision immediately began clouding as he tried to focus on a small stain on the carpet in front of him.
His head wouldn’t stop spinning, and he didn’t know if he was going to pass out, stop breathing or die and then Oscar would have to-
Oscar
He needed Oscar.
~~~
Oscar should have known something was wrong the moment Lando left their team meeting and never came back.
He knew there was something off, but not wrong. Looking back, the way Lando avoided eye contact, his leg bouncing, his hands wringing together. He wasn't blind, they both had an unspoken agreement about the fact that neither of them were neurotypical, and that never made it to the team either.
Looking back, he knew he should’ve probably talked to Lando about this, so that he would’ve known what to do when things like this happened. He knew Lando was normally very clingy and cuddly, especially with him, which was usually the opposite for Oscar. He found for a lot of things they were polar opposites, and yet they still worked really well together.
However, he had no idea if Lando would be the same if he was to have a sensory overload, or shut down, whether it was space or deep pressure stimulation.
He hadn’t seen Lando become overwhelmed like that yet.
The thought of not knowing how to help really stressed him out, and now he was regretting not biting the bullet and having that talk.
He also knew he also couldn’t blame the McLaren staff for not being understanding of why Lando was behaving like he was, but they also should have known this amount of anxiousness wasn’t normal for him.
That stressed him out even more.
As soon as Oscar had the opportunity to slip away for the evening, he took it and went straight for the exit. However, he ended up getting caught by Andrea on the way out, who wanted to talk a bit further on the data. After more time than he had liked had passed, they finished up their meeting, and Oscar bolted for it.
He called for an Uber, unable to stop feeling nervous as he made his way to the pickup spot. He asked staff members on the way out if they’d seen Lando. No one had seen him since he left the building, some seeing his face crumpled and others saying he kicked the door on the way out in a tantrum. That had been an hour ago.
Shit.
Oscar remained tight-lipped, not wanting to waste time arguing, and instead focusing on finding his boyfriend. He tries not to curse out Andrea as he clicks on Lando’s contact name, finding that there was no response to the message Oscar had sent him post race.
He dismissed the text he had started drafting, instead opting to call Lando instead.
Straight to voicemail.
That was when he knew something was wrong.
Lando may be horrendous with answering texts, having slipped his mind as things often do; but would never miss a call from Oscar. Let alone several. Unless he was sleeping, or something really had come up. In the case it would never be more than five minutes before Oscar’s receiving several lines of texts and phone calls to give some rhyme or reason.
He met the Uber at the meeting spot, thankful for them being nearby; his heart thundered as he hopped into the front seat. He gave a short, “good evening” and confirmed the directions to the hotel, chewing at the skin of his nails in panic as the minutes ticked by.
He called Zak to tell him he was dealing with a situation at the hotel, and to be on hand in case he needed him; in confusion, the team principal agreed. Oscar said he’d fill him in on the details later, hanging up abruptly as the hotel came into view.
He wasted no time and asked the driver to stop, dropping a tip through the app and thanking the driver as he took off in a sprint to the reception.
When he finally reached the lobby, breathing heavy, he greeted Rosie at the front desk, who smiled back.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Oscar cut her off, “have you seen Lando at all?”
Her face quickly dropped, and she rolled her eyes, “yeah, he’s up in his room. Completely ignored me earlier and was on a mission to get back it seemed,” she ranted. Oscar frowned, bitterness filled his mouth as he turning away and walked towards the elevators.
“Couldn’t even say hello despite the amount of food that boy ordered all weekend!” she continued. Oscar grimaced, not in the mood for her shit and thankful she couldn’t see his face. “Okay, thank you, Rosie. Have a nice evening.” He spat, his tone almost coming off as rude.
Rosie took no notice.
“You too, honey!”
His heart was pounding as he made his way to their shared floor. Before heading to Lando’s, he decided to freshen up in his room, especially if he was going to be playing video games or spending the evening cuddling. Yet, as he walked down the hallway, he could only hear silence.
Lando was never silent.
It was deafening.
As long as he’s known him, a big ball of energy, early morning to late night- he always had something to say. Even when he recharges, he has some form of loud music blasting through the walls and disrupting Oscar’s sleep. Whether it was in bed when at each other’s apartments, or through the thin hotel room walls, Lando just wasn’t quiet.
It wasn’t just the lack of noise blasting through the door that bothered him, it was the tray of food resting outside the door, obviously having sat there a while judging by the volume of condensation sitting wet in the lid.
Lando would never let food go cold, he loved eating burgers, and food in general straight away after race- no matter how poorly made.
Unable to shake the thought, Oscar uses his foot to shove the tray to the side of the door, and knocks.
A moment passes, then another.
He knocks again, harder this time.
Nothing.
He calls Lando’s name as he wraps his fist against the wood.
His heart jumped to his throat.
He presses his ear to the door. No shower, no music, just quiet.
Unable to wait any longer, he reaches into his back pocket to take out two keycards; he doesn’t check which is Lando’s spare, just shoves one at a time against the sensor and hopes the light goes green. He was lucky on his first attempt. Having a card to his teammate’s room was ‘for emergencies’ he had told Zak, who never asked what the pair would really use it for, but he could guess.
He only wishes that were the case now.
When he finally stepped foot over the threshold, nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight in front of him.
The first thing he could hear was grunts, desperate, and as if they were being punched from lungs. Gasps for breath and a small choked off sound. He closed the door behind him, and treaded deeper into the room.
It was then that he spotted Lando on the floor, in the far corner beside the bed. His back was against the wall, legs pulled to his chest, and his hands were covering his ears. He was rocking harshly back and fourth, making painful noises at the back of his throat, eyes wet and unfocused on the floor in front of him.
Oscar called his name- unsurprisingly no response. He padded carefully to the trembling form in front of him, squatted and reached to put a hand on Lando’s knee.
Big mistake.
Lando suddenly cried out, throwing his hands out in front of him to shove Oscar away. He ended up falling backwards, head just barely missing the corner of the dressing table, his hand going straight into an open duffle bag.
Before he had a chance to recover, Lando had started tugging the hair at the top of his head, with one hand moving to repeatedly hit against his forehead. Audible cries came from the man with each smack resounding the room as tears fell down his face.
It wasn’t like the panic attacks he’s seen.
Instead, it seemed like he was desperately trying to ground himself, almost like-
Oscar could’ve kicked himself for not recognising what was happening, meltdown. A severe one.
It was then that he noticed his hand was resting on something hard, which he pulled out to inspect. Headphones. Noise cancelling ones.
Fuck.
A sense of dread washed over Oscar. He hadn’t realised how sensory sensitive Lando must be, how well he could mask, how exhausted he must be; and Oscar, the one person who would probably understand the most, had no clue how bad it was.
Because they never talked about it.
Deciding to unpack that later, he made fast work of covering Lando’s ears with the headphones, careful to avoid directly touching him. It was difficult with how much and how harsh Lando was grabbing at his hair, his knuckles white.
His grip seemed to loosen once the weight of the headphones settled against his head, any external sounds, no matter how unnoticeable, dampened. He whimpered, still hitting his head, but slower now, as Oscar moved to switch the lights completely off, plunging the room into darkness; the soft glow of the evening sun filtering between the gap in the curtains.
Oscar didn't say anything further as he sat in front of Lando, and gave him the space to breathe. He didn’t dare move. He let the time pass, and observed the other man in front of him.
His heart broke at how utterly wrecked Lando looked. It wasn’t long before he fully stopped clawing his hair and hitting himself, especially since the sound and light triggers were mitigated. Needing stimulation still, Lando went back to holding his arms around his legs, continuing to rock, but not as fast as before. His noises completely ceased, but Oscar still hated that just as much as hearing his boyfriend sound pained.
Now that Oscar was able to spend time looking at him, really looking, it meant that he could see the long bright red lines travelling the length of Lando’s forearms. Dried blood in small speckles were scattered across his skin. Oscar knew how much consistent scratching it would take to break the skin, and he couldn’t help but feel utterly guilty.
He was out chatting with Andrea whilst his boyfriend was falling apart.
He knew he would tear into he team later. He remembered his ex-girlfriend, Lily, would always tell him he was quiet, but fierce. He was extremely protective of the ones he loved, even threatened to write a harsh worded email to her professor at University one time because they told her a woman would never be able to make it into the Formula One world as an engineer.
But he knew Lily, she was polite, quiet, classy. She was kind, beautiful, smart, and so understanding. He had known she would be able to do anything she put her mind to.
He was devastated one afternoon in early January of the 2023 season, just after he had signed with McLaren for a multi year contract- that they had the difficult conversation.
They had been together since high school, they had loved each other very much, but it seemed as time went on, they saw each other less and less. Their relationship, formed of love and passion, soon became that of convenience of having someone to go home to.
At first, he had been confused, thinking they were perfect for each other. After settling into their careers, they’d buy a house, get married, kids, maybe a dog or two- but Oscar wasn’t sure he even wanted that. He had barely started his twenties, and wasn’t even at the peak of his career. He wanted to experience the world.
He wanted to live.
So, Lily broke it off- mutual of course. They remained good friends, and Oscar couldn’t have thanked her more for doing that for him, because then he wouldn’t have fallen in love with Lando; wouldn’t have known that a person can make him feel just as alive as racing did.
He remained good friends with Lily, and even now, they supported each other when they could. She never asked questions, but was always there when Oscar asked her to attend the paddock with him, supporting him as ‘Oscar Piastri’s partner’ according to the media. He just never corrected them, so really it was their fault to assume, and so no one turned their heads to heart-eyed-Oscar ogling his teammate, because he did that to everyone, clearly.
He could also thank her right now, for making him remember how to help with these types of meltdowns. Oscar had a few himself in the past, but he wasn’t diagnosed until well into his late teens, Lily having pushed him into getting referred and investigated.
His quietness and avidness around social interactions was always mistaken for anxiety. His need to withdraw and low moods were always treated as depression. He was always established as the weird kid for not being interested in playing with the others, and that he hated picture books, just wanting car manuals to be read to him at bed time.
After finally receiving his diagnosis, he was grateful to have a reason for why he never felt ‘normal’, per say, but Lily’s sister being a high functioning autistic, meant they were both able to teach Oscar how to manage his autism properly.
Having lost in thought, Oscar couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but his back was starting to ache and he had pins and needles in his legs. That was when Lando made the smallest sound, finally, breaking the silence.
“Osc?”
Reaching out, but thinking better of it, Oscar tapped on the floor in front of him, quietly letting the other man know he was there. After a few more agonising minutes of silence, Lando slowly unfurled, lifting his head and meeting Oscar’s eyes.
“Hey, Lan.”
~~~
White hot shame. Humiliation. He wanted the earth to open up, swallow him fucking whole and let him rot.
He didn’t want to face Oscar, not after all that. Not after he had embarrassed himself-
Oh fuck.
Lando couldn’t bare to look at his teammate in front of him. He pushed off his headphones, tossing them on the bed as he abruptly stood up, rushing to the mirror by the door. He slammed his hand against the light switch, and prayed with all his fucking might that-
Thank god.
He was dry. Just red arms, a tear stained face and a sweaty collar, but dry pants.
He hadn’t wet himself.
It was one of the greatest reasons why he didn’t want to tell people about his neurodivergency. He was shamed for it growing up, unable to focus, can’t sit still, dyslexic on top of that too-
A huge opportunity fell into his lap, he would have been silly to let that slip from his fingers by having issues with sensory input or reading certain tones. He loved racing, so he knew he could focus when the time came.
Sometimes though, when he got so overwhelmed he couldn’t talk, or when everything had piled just too high, he’d have such bad meltdowns that he lost control of his bladder like a fucking child.
He could’ve kissed the floor that, miraculously, that hadn’t been the case today.
He could already smell the headlines if that had happened back at the paddock or media pen. He knew the world was becoming more accepting, but it just wasn’t there yet. Too much hate.
He didn’t know if he could take much more of it.
Realising Oscar was still in the room, the shame was rising once more. He couldn’t fathom why he had a meltdown over something like today, not when he’d had far worse moments this season and he still bounced back- especially after his fuck up in Canada that costed him a DNF.
Sure, he was upset, and he cried, a lot. He did spend a lot of time reading through hate comments, but he was fine after some food and a few throwaway movies.
It had been worse this time, maybe because the race outcome was completely out of his control. It wasn’t fair, and he was hated for it anyways. On top of that, the one person he didn’t want to have seen him so vulnerable, who he didn’t want to be judged by, was his fucking boyfriend.
Maybe it was a backwards way of thinking, but he didn’t care. He was too tired, and he just wanted to go to bed and be on the first flight back to Monaco.
He knew he couldn’t blame Oscar, not really. It wasn’t his fault, nor was it his own either, but he was angry. He was really tired, and in urgent need of recharge, or being sent to Mars to avoid Oscar for the rest of his life. But really, the only other person that he could take his anger out on was right there, and his irrational thought process won.
”You wanna talk about it?”
Lando snapped his gaze to the other side of the room. Oscar was standing awkwardly where he had been the whole time whilst he had made a tit of himself in the mirror.
By the disgusted look on his face to the question asked, and Oscar’s frown deepening in response, he could tell he had said the wrong thing. Lando looked at the floor again.
He couldn’t hide it anymore. Any shred of dignity and ego suddenly crumbled as his anger broke through.
“No, no I don’t, mate. Nothing to talk about.”
Lando couldn’t help it, he didn’t even want to think about it- was all bollocks, really. He knew he should’ve stayed off his socials, but after reading the comments, seeing his car being lifted to the sound of the British anthem, and himself from the lower levels of the podium, staring up at Oscar receiving his trophy; it really fucking hurt.
On top of that, having to get so overwhelmed was not only exasperating in himself, but Oscar had seen it too. Now he would use it-
No. He wouldn’t. He’s not like that.
“Lando, you have every right to be upset, but holding it in won’t do us any good,”
His eyes, full of fury, finally locked onto Oscar’s again, fists clenched at his side as he took a step back, “alright, Andrea-” Oscar flinched at Lando’s tone, realising he’d echoed the team principle from earlier, “-why don’t you just piss off and celebrate with the rest of them eh?”
Raising an eyebrow, a look to say ‘really?’, Oscar sighed, “Well I want to be here with you, that’s why I’m here. I was worried.”
Lando scoffed, shaking his head, “have you thought that maybe I don’t want you here? Especially after what just happened?”
Oscar shrugged off his jacket, throwing it across the back of the chair, and took a few steps forward, “you don’t mean that, Lan. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
He was a wild animal, backed into a corner, and we all know what they do when they feel threatened-
”Don’t fucking tell me what I mean, Osc. You always have it perfect,”
-they lash out.
Lando stalks over to the man in front of him, who remains rooted. Poison was dripping from his every word as he jabbed a finger into Oscar’s chest. “You don’t fucking get it, your car never breaks down, your pit stops are shorter, you never have shit left in your car,”
”Lan-”
“You’re the ice cold fucking teammate who always outpaces me, and is better than me, in your third fucking year!”
Oscar watches, mouth pressing in a fine line as Lando continues his rants, still pushing his finger into his chest.
“You never make mistakes,” he turns away from Oscar, picks up his bag from the floor and empties it onto the bed.
“You never break down,” he picks up the closest item, deodorant. He throws it at the wall, the noise soothes an itch he didn’t know he had under his skin.
He needed more.
He throws another item.
“You don’t get what it’s like to live in a shadow of your own rookie teammate-”
He turns to face Oscar again, whose brows have furrowed again, but not with upset, deep thought. It pissed Lando off even more.
“What does that say about me?!” Lando’s voice cracked. His vision blurring and throat becoming tight.
Ashamed, he turns back to the bed, and picks up his headphones. He hesitates for a moment, but goes to throw them anyway. His wrist is grabbed and held firm before he could launch them. Lando immediately yanks away, his skin tingling and emotions overwhelming, “don’t fucking touch me!”
Lando knew he looked like he was throwing a temper tantrum, acting like a child, chucking things around to get his own way, but the sounds the items made as they hit the wall, it was… nice.
Sensory seeking.
He recalled his mum telling him about it when he was younger, always rocking or rubbing his shirt between his finger tips, always needing to chew pens or only had the best of sleep with the heaviest blankets he could find and pile on top of each other. Unable to focus in classes unless he had whatever fidget toy he could find. Whenever he cried he always needed an extra tissue, purely just to rip it apart so his hands had something to do.
Oscar must’ve noticed this too, but despite Lando’s warning, he doesn’t let up. He just grabs his wrist again to take his headphones and set them on the bed.
Lando had had enough, whether it was the lack of reaction, comment, he doesn’t fucking know what; but the other man was pissing him off greatly.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a fucking mug, Oscar, and get out for fucks sake!”
He goes to pull away from him again, but the other driver surged forward, wrapping his arms tight around Lando, who again started to wildly thrash to get away from him.
“Get the fuck off me! I don’t need you or your help!”
Oscar just squeezes him tighter, holds his face close to his shoulder, rubs his back and says, “It’s not your fault,”
Nostrils flaring, Lando starts to beat his fists against Oscar’s chest. A last ditch effort to gain control.
”I fucking know that, Oscar. Stop fucking touching me!”
Oscar holds on. He repeats the phrase, over and over.
”It’s not your fault.”
Lando’s energy was rapidly depleting, they both knew it. It had been too much at once, and he hadn’t realised how tight Oscar was holding him.
It was bone crushing, it was overwhelming it was- his shoulders dropped, the ache in his head let up, his skin stopped burning.
It was nice.
The anger slowly bled away as his fists uncurled to grab the fabric of the shirt in front of him, holding tight.
When the first sob erupted from his throat, he knew how bad he had fucked up and yet-
Oscar pulls away, puts his hands on Lando’s face, wipes his tears with his thumbs, “it’s not your fault.”
Lando crumples, his mask shatters and he cries, hard.
Desperate, ugly sobs. Oscar kisses his forehead, and pulls him in to rub his back. Lando buries his head in his collar, the smell of sweat, detergent and chocolate washes over him. Though an odd concoction, it was just so… Oscar.
It grounded him.
“Shh, it’s okay, love. I’m here.”
Lando cries harder, and uses both hands to rub the fabric of Oscar’s shirt between his fingers.
“I’m not going anywhere, love. You’re doing so well.” He said, stroking gentle patterns into Lando’s back. He just kept holding him, even as he fell apart, messy and loud, Oscar never let go.
He was safe.
Eventually, Lando moved closer, his socked feet moving to half stand on top of the other man’s shoes. Oscar took the opportunity to start gently rocking them, one hand now running up and down Lando’s back, the other reaching to the nape of his neck, and up into the curls, gently stroking through them.
Lando cried for his loss, his embarrassment, for himself, for how he treated Oscar and the snot now ruining his shirt.
He let go.
Oscar caught him.
His cries eventually turned to sniffles. Oscar continued to murmur praise into the shell of his ear, “you’re going to be okay, Lando. You’re my good boy, and you’ve done so well.”
He started hiccuping, his boyfriend’s low and soothing voice spreading throughout his system like warm honey. He hadn’t realised, but eventually the tip of his thumb had found its way to his mouth, a small comfort as his thoughts slowly crept away.
“Should we go and get cleaned up?”
Lando shrugged. He did want to, knew he had to, knew Oscar hadn’t showered yet, but he didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know if he could. The words were rapidly becoming harder to find, his tongue like lead and all he was focused on was Oscar.
Tears started sliding down his sore, red face as he started to become overwhelmed again. Oscar was quick to shush him. “It’s okay, Lan,” he said, kissing his forehead once more. “You don't need to talk. Do you want me to decide?”
Lando nodded, hard and fast, breathing a sigh of relief.
~~~
So, Oscar did just that.
He guided him to sit on the toilet seat, running him a hot bath. Lando sat back, staring at the floor, seemingly floating away from his body. At the same time, Oscar rushed around trying to clean up and ran back to his own room to grab two sets of sweatpants and hoodies, careful of anyone walking down the hallway.
He spent a considerable amount of time assessing whether his clothes were ‘sensory approved’ for Lando. He knew roughly which would be alright and the others as a hard pass; like for himself, his tolerance for textures would vary day to day.
Settling for the safest option, the softest and heaviest he could find, he made his way back to Lando.
By the time he got back to the bathroom, the water was ready and Lando was staring at him, blinking slowly and dazed. Oscar undressed them both and guided Lando to the bath, who was making soft sounds at the back of his throat. Oscar climbed in behind him so that his back was against his chest.
They spent the next ten minutes in a soothing quiet as Oscar washed them both before focusing on a slow massage to his boyfriend’s curls. Lando kept putting his finger in his mouth, and kept making small whines whenever Oscar tried to pull it away. Once he deduced that Lando was just holding his hand there to feel the weight in his mouth as an anchor, instead of biting at the skin there, he let him be.
Eventually, when the water became lukewarm, and they were both clean, Oscar unplugged the drain, and reached for the towel hanging on the rack next to him.
He made quick work of drying himself, stepping out and reaching for his clothes to get changed. He didn’t take his eyes from Lando, who was content with watching the water swirl and make noises as it drained away.
Once Lando turned his head to look at him, signalling he was ready, Oscar started to gently dry him off, doing his best to avoid irritating his skin.
He then reached for the hoodie hanging up, pulling it over Lando’s head. It was slightly oversized on him, and Oscar helped him to stand up and step out before leaning down to dry his legs.
Oscar then grabbed the sweatpants, and bundled the legs up to allow for his boyfriend to step into them. In doing so, Lando wobbled slightly, so he held onto Oscar’s shoulders with both hands and made a small hum as the material was pulled up over his legs.
He then took Lando’s hand, and guided him over to the bed, taking some toilet roll with him. He pulled the covers back and climbed in, shuffling to one side. Lando stood there for a moment, his thumb going to his mouth again, blinking slowly.
Oscar patted next to him, and Lando’s eyes flashed with recognition, dropping forward onto the bed in front of him. He curled up next to him, tucking his head under Oscar’s chin.
He put his arm around Lando, holding him close once more, and they sat in a peaceful silence.
Feeling the tension in Lando’s body slowly ebb away, Oscar’s mind eased.
He had at least done something right.
~~~
Lando felt clearer in his head, and hungry.
His head was pounding from the effort of crying, but he felt so much better having aired everything out.
The weight holding down his tongue felt as if it dissipated.
He pulls his hand away from his mouth, settles for scrunching the hem of Oscar’s hoodie instead. He takes a moment, breathes in his scent, now of home, laundry and comfort.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, voice cracking. His throat was raw with the effort of his breakdown.
It didn't hurt as much as his heart.
Oscar doesn’t hesitate, ”It’s okay,” he responds, and starts stroking behind Lando’s ear with one hand. He reaches for the toilet roll on the bedside as small tears start leaking from his eyes again.
He felt terrible; the one person who is always on his side, supporting him no matter what, just had to witness harsh words, said from a place of anger, by his own boyfriend.
”No, no it's not, Osc. It was uncalled for.” He said, bringing the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose, inhaling the scent of Oscar to ground him again.
Oscar sighs, squeezes the nape of his neck for a second, “You were having a huge meltdown, Lan. We both know you couldn’t control that.”
Lando’s eyes widen, he freezes and so does Oscar.
No way.
Carefully, “how did you know that’s what it was?”
Oscar sighed, and he pulled away from Lando to sit up, who followed suit, rolling up his sleeves. An unease grew in the pit of his stomach.
Sensing the heaviness in the room, he places his hand on Oscar’s knee. The tight smile that he shot back in response only added to the knot in Lando’s stomach.
They turned to each other and Oscar took a breath. Lando watched as he clutched at his knees and- “I’m autistic too.”
Oh.
Oh.
Okay, well, okay. He’s got no excuse. He’s just a moron to have not seen that, clearly.
He tries not to think too hard about the fact that Oscar knew he was autistic, and never mentioned it. In retrospect, he probably would’ve dodged the subject if it was ever brought up to him, but in the same token…
So much shit could have been avoided.
Lando lets out a small huff, the corner of his mouth turned upwards.
“Lando Norris, did you just laugh at me?” Oscar suddenly gasps, “that's ableism.”
A small smile, the tension broken, “shut up, you muppet,”
They break into a fit of giggles.
He dives forward, crashing into Oscar’s arms, who immediately started reaching to tickle him. Lando screeched, moving to straddle Oscar, whose hands eventually settled on his hips.
They just looked at each other for a moment.
He realised Oscar was the only person whose eyes he could get lost in without wanting to break out of his skin.
Lando’s brows furrowed, his hands moving to rest on Oscar’s chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner though?”
Oscar’s smile falters slightly, his grip tightening on the other man. “I don't really know. I mean, to be honest,”
He sighs, and Lando shivers as hands slide under his hoodie and up his lower back, “I guess I just didn’t want to push you away?”
Lando sniffs and settles down on top of Oscar, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He then wiggles his feet under the covers, trying to push ever so closer into the other man.
“Osc, I know I’m a lot to handle n’all… and I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but sometimes it's so much worse. Can you really deal with that?’
He doesn’t receive a response straight away, just feels lips press against his head and the curl of a smile.
“I love you, Lan.”
He pauses, eyes widening. They hadn’t said it to each other yet, not properly anyways.
”Oscar…”
”Don’t,” he starts, stroking up his back again. “You don’t need to say it back yet. Just let me love you, and that’s enough for me. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
Lando doesn’t recall much, just the feel of warmth and praises, uttered repeatedly. That he was good enough, that it will be clean and a good battle to the end. That he could do it, that Oscar believes in him.
They had a lot to talk about. For now, they were happy to reorder food, and spend the evening chatting, relearning boundaries and measures for how to tackle if things go wrong in the future.
Oscar traced gentle patterns into the sensitive skin of Lando’s arms as they waited for their dinner to arrive. Lando tried not to wince, but his boyfriend must’ve noticed, leaning off the side of the bed to reach into the duffle bag, pulling out a small tube of antiseptic cream.
Though he wasn’t ready to say it out loud, afraid of what it meant, what that could do for their futures, Lando loved him.
Oscar’s kind smile, soft eyes and warm touches; he was patient, caring, and everything Lando wanted in a person. He fell in love with Oscar a long time ago, in fact he fell more in love every day, especially with how Oscar offered to take them to ice cream because the antiseptic that was being gently rubbed into his arm burned a little bit.
He knew what Lando needed, knew him better than he knew himself.
One day he would say it back, when he was ready.
He knew Oscar would wait for him.
For now, he had nine races left.
Onto Monza.
Hopefully he wouldn’t end up with another slow pit stop or something; that might just drive him crazy.
But he knew Oscar would be there to put him back together if he ever did fall apart.